


The Death of Sherlock Holmes

by netya



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pining!Sherlock, Series 3 Compatible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 13:03:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2733566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/netya/pseuds/netya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Search/files/speech//: You. It's always you, John Watson, you keep me right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Death of Sherlock Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> First and foremost I'd like to apologise for the amount of pining!sherlock in this little one-shot.  
> Secondly, I have no beta, so any formatting/grammar mistakes are mine; this has not been brit-picked, either, so bear with me :)  
> Thirdly, all of the character & quotes used are the property of the writers of BBC Sherlock, much as I hate to admit it.

  


Search/files/speech//: You. It's always you, John Watson, you keep me right.

  


Mycroft knows. He just knows. You can tell when he looks at you, you can tell from the pity in his voice as he says, Files/speech/Mycroft//: _“don't get involved.”_ He does not wish for you to get hurt. But really, it's your own fault, he implies.

Sentiment /noun/: A chemical defect found in the losing side.

  


Molly reads it in the way you move. Recognises that under all the nancing and scoffing and booooooored there is an underlying bitterness, a hesitation, a sadness.

Files/speech/Molly//: _“You look sad. When you think he can't see you.”_

  


The Woman understands you. She really gets it, in a way no-one else has, how lonely you are. It's clear as glass, really, but she's the first one to wipe away the fog and see the way you preened, all those lingering glances, and (on his end) the blatant jealousy he displayed when it became obvious she was in love with you, too.

Files/speech/The Woman//: _“Look at us both.”_

~

It's there, in the back of his mind and the front of his heart. He can feel it in the undercurrent of tension every time you fight, every time he rages at the mould culture on the table or the thumbs in the fridge, every night he wakes up gasping and crying out to the ceiling and the rush in your ears and warmth of your skin is the desire to smash his lips to yours in the frantic, fumbling heat of I'm-here-I'm-here-I'm-here to make him forget about the world, you know he's so close to kissing you but doesn't move because he is afraid.  
~

Moriarty knew this the moment he saw you, and used it to his advantage.

File/speech/Moriarty//: _“I will burn the heart out of you.”_

If John Watson isn't your heart, if causing John pain isn't the way to pierce through your lungs and stop you from breathing, then why is he even here?  
~

That's when it happened. ~~The Fall~~ You stopped breathing. You allowed him to think for one slamming heart-stopping moment you were gone and dead and never coming back and when you returned, when you saw what you did to him, ~~what you swore you would never do to him~~ , it was over. There was no going back.

File/pain/John//: _“Yes, of course, I forgive you.”_

Now she, she is a special case. She is The Replacement. You like her and you see all the reasons John does too but you despise her, ~~you want to wring her neck and spit the most vile of insults and truths~~ because she can read you like an open book, she feels for you and still she takes him from you.

File/pain/marym0rst4n?//: _“I'm sorry, Sherlock. Truly, I am.”_

  


File/pain//: _“John, there’s something … I should say; I’ve meant to say always and then never have... Since it’s unlikely we’ll ever meet again, I might as well say it now.”_

  


You gaze into his eyes, here at the place of your final bow, and reel at the raw pleading you see there. The plead not to speak, not now, not on this regret. All the unspoken emotions, all the things you didn't say, fearful of the only thing that has stopped you both from shattering to pieces.

File/pain//: _“Human error.”_

Maybe, one time, it could have been. But now, as you are saying goodbye, that time is out of reach.  
So you come to a shuddering halt. You claw desperately, joke, anything to make him laugh and see the smile on his face one last time. You see that he does not believe it. You also see his relief.

Peeling off your glove, trembling inside, you reach out for that last touch, that fleeting contact of skin-on-skin, and find you cannot speak.

There is nothing more to say.

Search/files/eastwind//: _“To the very best of times, John.”_

You pull away from John Watson, from this man who has given you so much and taken so much away. You walk away from the paradoxical being who has given you everything that should have been impossible. You walk away and don't look back while every fibre of your being screams the most agonized swan song.

Heartbreak /noun/: crushing grief, anguish, or distress.

  


As you look through the window and taste salt in the back of your throat, you plead silently with your heart to stop beating, to stop pumping blood through your veins because if it were not so full of sentiment for John Watson you could close your eyes, end this, shut everything down.

  


Love /noun/: John.

  


Because if John Watson is the death of you, the death of Sherlock Holmes, you think it will not be so bad to die.


End file.
